Hide and Seek
by BoneYard Betty the Elder
Summary: After the fall of the prison, Daryl and Beth struggle to survive in harsh post-apocalyptic Georgia, which may end up being a far cry easier than surviving themselves. The end of the world wouldn't be so bad if everyone could just stop yelling for two minutes. Follows season 4, diverges after 'Us'. Bethyl, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mature themes
1. Chapter 1

This is my first Walking Dead fanfiction. I thought I was done with your crowd back in 2009. *shakes an old lady fist* But after seeing the new dynamic between Daryl and Beth, I couldn't stop myself. I know I'm a little bit late on the Bethyl train, but I just recently go Netflix and finally finished the season, hah. This'll get smutty, eventually, in small doses. I've already got the first five chapters penned out and ready for editing, which'll provide me with a nice buffer so ya'll aren't waiting for updates forever.

This is a short one, but I'm trying to separate chapters into distinct scenes.

Enjoy!

Beth felt hands on her shoulders, fisting her shirt and tugging upwards, catching strands of hair and ripping them painfully from her scalp. The violent grab wretched the girl back to the present, bringing with it the pungent smell of new death and an acute ringing in her ears. Her eyes sought out Daryl's, his face stony and eyes hard, as his hand wrapped around her upper arm in a vice like grip to drag her away.

"We gotta go, Beth. We gotta go _now_," the man bit out, righting Beth to her feet none too gently. Walkers were closing in, snarls and groans from the dead filling the prison yard along with thick clouds of black smoke.

Beth twisted her body around in Daryl's grip, feeling much like Lot's wife turned to chiseled salt as her gaze caught so many familiar faces, joining the horde eager to consume the two living souls still present in the yard, but she couldn't make her feet cooperate as they stumbled over each other and she fell into the warm body near her. "But… Daryl, the others.. Maggie, I gotta.."

Daryl tugged harshly on Beth's arm, not mindful on whether he was guiding or carrying her. "We gotta _go_!"

With one last visual sweep – taking in the broken fences, smoldering tank, bodies littered on the ground, and finally, Judith's bloody car seat – Beth heaved a sob and turned her back on the gruesome scene to follow obediently.

Daryl's white knuckled grip on Beth was the only thing keeping him grounded, staving away the hush of red that had threatened to cover his vision. Through the woods they ran, walkers making them zigzag around trees, drawn by the sounds of chaos. At some point, Daryl lost his grip on Beth, walkers forcing him to clear the way for himself and his charge as undead emerged from the brush to separate them further, but he didn't abandon the girl.

He had slowed to a stop just in time to hear her gun click empty, a sound that made Daryl's heart jump and his crossbow swing in an arc, barely taking time to aim properly before the bolt exploded from the side of the walker's skull. He grabbed the back of her shirt, urging her on with a push to hip. Daryl couldn't handle losing anyone else that day. The pair ran close, ducking around trees, further into the forest, away from the prison. Daryl ran until his eyes itched and throat burned, though not from the exertion or stench of smoke that blanketed the countryside from their home. Emotions he didn't want to address clawed at his chest and settled in his sternum, the thrumming beat of his heart only wrenching the hurt deeper, so when Beth collapsed in the grassy field, his body landed easily beside hers, his hand coming to cover his eyes, physically pressing away the tears there, real tears, like the ones he shed when fate forced his hand against Merle, tears for Hershel, for Beth. Selfish tears for himself and everyone else in this shit world that lost one of the last good men left in it.

He glanced under his wrist to the Greene girl at his side. Sobbing Beth had given way to a Beth that he was uncomfortably familiar with – stoic, wide eyed and stone faced – so he sat, rolling away and to his feet. When he spoke, his voice was gruff with contained emotion, but he managed to mumble something about finding a safer place to rest, at least for a little while. Daryl pulled a frown at Beth's grimace, but he understood. What place had been safer than their compound, and look how quickly that had been torn away.


	2. Chapter 2

Tracking turned out to be hard, much harder than Daryl expected. Whomever they were following hadn't bothered being discrete, but with each step, the clawing panic was returning. He was starting to need them to be alive as much as Beth needed it, wanted to feel like part of his family was back where they should be. The tension between himself and the youngest Greene became palpable and sour as his standoffish attitude escalated in light of his inability to mourn, not while trying so hard to survive.

At the tracks, Daryl turned away from the sobbing girl, offering no comfort as he struggled to keep his gasping breath in check. They had wasted most of their day light tracking dead kids; they needed to find safety before an inevitable herd found them. Beth's footsteps were slow and unsteady behind him, but present, so he took them through the woods opposite the tracks, moving at a steady pace. Up a small incline, then down a rocky drop, the Georgia terrain was unforgiving and the underbrush thick. Beth knew how to move with some degree of stealth, but after hours of grueling hiking, her movements started to become more and more clumsy, twigs snapping at her passing, rocks going tumbling. Daryl was about force the both of them into the trees for the night, since he knew their presence in the forest had not gone undetected, when the two of them burst through the dense foliage to a lone country street, a car park haphazardly to the side of the road. Beth checked the engine quickly before the sounds of the undead reached her ears.

Daryl motioned with his head to the trunk, urging her inside quickly, as he folded into the trunk himself and secured it just as the horde began to gather onto the pavement. Dead bodies knocked against the car, sending it swaying in the dark, casting shadows on the silent occupants. Beth held the knife with numb hands, shaking, the smell of the dead filling the small metal space and causing her to choke on her own breath. Daryl sat, knees close to his chest, crossbow at the ready, eyes ever vigilant, flicking between what he could see from his small vantage point and the dirty red bandana that stood between them and the hungry horde of walkers.

He could feel Beth next to him, small body shaking like a leaf, and his eyes swept over her for a moment. Blonde hair plastered to a dirty face, eyes shut tight against fear, lips thinned and trembling. Daryl looked back to the vague light and thought back to when he last saw her brow unfurrowed, when Hershel was still breathing and their family was together and happy. Wispy blonde waves framed her face, dark lashes against pale skin, those big, Greene girl eyes, and the big ol' smiles she gave him. Her body was skinny, a byproduct of a thin teen coming into adulthood in the middle of the apocalypse, but her coltish legs and thin arms held rippling muscles, a capable sort of strength, while her small breasts and slightly rounded hips kept her looking feminine. Daryl's jaw clenched at the thoughts invading his mind, and he cursed Hershel for his beautiful daughters. Maggie, beautiful in her own right, strong and smart, had an infectious sort of appeal, but Beth, with her quiet charm, always appealed to Daryl's sense of comfortable silences.

The first peal of thunder had Beth near crawling out of her skin. Her body twitched and writhed as the sounds outside of their little metal haven intensified, the rocking of the car more violent, and she smashed her legs up against Daryl's, biting through her lips to keep her fearful sobs silent. Daryl, sensing her panic, eased a hand off of his crossbow and groped around, grabbing Beth's knee and squeezing for a moment before his hand disappeared. It happened so quickly, Beth was shocked from her pit of anxiety to wonder if it actually happened at all.

Eventually, the thundering rain slowed to a pitter patter while the moans became more and more infrequent, till it was so quiet that Beth's head slipped backwards, and she finally slept. Daryl stayed vigilant, only relaxing minutely, praying that the trusty bandana wouldn't fail him just in time for him to let his arms relax. He kept one hand on his bow, the other he flexed and stretched as much as he could in the cramped space, careful not to jostle his sleeping companion. He moved his fingers, one by one, before his eyes strayed, once again, to Beth as his hand hovered near her knee. He knew that this bordered on inappropriate, and could almost see Hershel glaring down at him from heaven, but Daryl's craving for comfort won out as he settled his hand on her knee, thumb grazing back and forth across her jeans. It was only a brief touch, but as he dragged his hand down her calf, feeling her warmth, the overpowering despair Daryl had felt since the prison began to abate.

Beth stirred, and Daryl tore his hand away. By the time her eyes fluttered open, it looked like Daryl hadn't moved a muscle since late last night. The climb out of the trunk was silent, as was their scavenging. Daryl knew that Beth mistook his hard, long look for loathing, but he was simply drinking in the sight of her – alive.

She was swaying on her feet, though, the familiar dazed look of hunger settling into her eyes. "We need'ta git some food in you, girl," was Daryl's gruff good morning. He didn't wait for a response as he took off down the road.


	3. Chapter 3

While none worse for wear after braving Pine Vista Country Club, Daryl felt the base of his throat constricting with anger, not towards Beth, but towards how unfair everything was. In his mind, Beth shared her first night of drinking with her sister, Glenn, maybe Rick, Tyrese as the big babysitter, happy in the prison. He knew why she wanted a drink. She was floundering, lost in this impasse, while they tried to figure out what to do. Daryl could sit in a 'suck-ass' camp, waiting for inspiration, but Beth had too much anxious energy. The death of her father made missing Maggie feel like a hole in her chest. Daryl knew what she was looking for – the promise of an empty head, some sort of a void, an escape. Merle found his in pills and concoctions, when shit got so hard that neither of them felt like going on the next day, and Daryl, well, he found his solitude in the wild.

Next to the shack, Daryl caught the small smile that Beth gave him as he dumped a crate of moonshine into her arms. He nearly returned it, but choked on the brief moment of joy, before scouting around for any stray walkers. Inside, Daryl slid a shot of moonshine at Beth, who grasped it in her hand and brought it to her lips. She hesitated a second, thinking about the trouble one Daryl Dixon had gone through for this single drink, and wondering if he knew that when she looked at him, butterflies erupted in her stomach and spread to her hips and gave her knees a nervous shake. Her hesitation didn't go unnoticed.

"What's wrong?" Daryl asked, daring her to put the glass down.

Beth scrambled for a believable answer, not keen on sharing her thoughts. "My daddy… he always said bad moonshine'd make you go blind," she said haltingly.

Daryl's eyes bore into hers intensely. "Ain't nothin' worth seein' out there anymore anyways," he reasoned. Beth grinned at his infallible logic and took a large, burning swig that nearly sent her gagging, and lent a knowing smirk to Daryl's face. She breathed slowly, then another swig, draining the cup. The second one burned even more.

"Ain't so bad the second time 'round," she croaked out, and Daryl bit back a laugh at the lie. She poured another drink.

"Whoa there, slow down," Daryl warned, holding up his hand.

"Ain't for me," she offers, tilting the glass towards him. Daryl shook his head, not knowing how well he would take to the drink. "What are you, my chaperone now?"

Daryl gave the girl a glare before moving to board up the windows. "Just drink a lotta water."

"Yess, Mister Dixon," Beth drawled, bringing the drink to her lips again. God, that stuff was awful. She sucked down one more glass, and then drank some water before taking her third glass to the floor, raiding the cubby behind the musty chair for blankets. Daryl watched her out of the corner of his eye, stomach rolling with the desire to laugh at the girl. Instinct that every drunk had currently drove her, and she was making the quintessential drunk nest, a small hallow for booze safekeeping, pillows and blankets arranged in a literal nest. She crawled behind the god awful forest camo print Lay-Z-Boy, in search of more treasures to add to her nest, giving Daryl a long, unadulterated look at her shapely behind, the gap where her thighs met, causing heat to creep up his neck, before she came gasping up for air. It startled Daryl momentarily before he realized that she was laughing. The sound warmed his insides like no booze could, and he heaved a sigh of relief. Laughter was good.

The girl was holding an awful ceramic planter, dead flowers still standing amid a lawn of cigarette butts, the pink bust overflowing with filth. "Who…Who would send _money_ on this?!" She questioned, astonished, examining her find. "Big boobs."

Daryl finally let go a chuckle of his own, earning a soft, drunken smile from Beth. "My dad, that's who. Would set those up on the TV set, use 'em as target practice."

"He'd shoot things in the house?" Beth pressed, concern writ on her face. Daryl waved her off, shaking his head and smiling nonchalantly, giving her a shrug. He had no heart to ruin the current good mood.

"My dad used to have a place, jus' like this one. That's how I knew what it was, from the shack out back. Look 'ere. This is your standard dumpster chair," he said, motioning to the recliner, "that's fer sittin' in," he kicked some buckets lightly, "them's for spittin chaw in after yer old lady makes you quit smokin'," and finally he picked up some magazines, gorgeous, voluptuous women on the covers before dropping them with a funny face, "And yer internet!" Beth laughed, leaning in to pick up a Playboy, then Hustler. Daryl made a grab for the more explicit magazine, but Beth whipped it out of his reach quickly. "Beth, that one ain't..Uh."

Beth widened her eyes at the man, slightly mocking. "Mister Dixon, I had a big brother, and I've always been a nosey 'lil suma'bitch. I know what Hustler is, Daryl. I even know that the founder got his-self shot to try to bring 'the freedom of porn to America!'" She gesticulated extravagantly, obviously making fun as she thumbed through the pages.

Daryl cocked his head to the side, "Really? I didn' know that shit. Hell Beth."

The girl laughs and nods. "Is true, every word. Someone tried to kill 'im, but he survived to keep Hustler…" she tilted the magazine to the side, a centerfold unfolding, her head tilting to the other side. "Nasty," she finished, a look a slight amusement and embarrassment all over her face. She quickly folded up the pages and shuffled to the Playboy, the safer of the two options. "I grew up always hopin' to end up lookin' like these girls, all shapely and beautiful. Like Maggie. Maggie's always been lookin' like a woman, and here I am, stuck lookin' like a baby still. Ain't fair."

Daryl glanced over at the nearly melancholy complaints, confused. "Beth, yer a very pretty girl, don't you ever go wonderin' on that."

Beth gave him a half-smirk. "It don't matter nowadays, anyway," she gestured to her breasts and hips with disappointment. "I just look a lot younger than I am. The Woodbury residents, they all thought that Maggie was my momma for a while. If I survive, I'm never gunna look like a woman."

Daryl scoffed, trying to hide it in a cough but failing. Like hell she didn't look like a woman. Daryl thought back to her impassioned tirade about a drink before she had left camp suck-ass. No child had eyes the burned like that, or arms that flexed into hard, defined lines when she flipped him off, and no child cocked their hip just so to highlight the curve of a woman, the curve of a body familiar with holding a child. Gasping and growling outside made Drunky Brewster in the corn jump in fear, and Daryl held out a hand. "It's only one."

"Should we take care of it?"

"Naw, not unless he gets loud 'nough to call over sum' friends," Daryl instructed. Beth nodded her consent then grabbed an unopened mason jar.

"If we're gunna be stuck again, may as well make the best of it," she reasoned.

Daryl took a look at the moonshine, then at the girl making him so uncomfortable. One way to deal with that.

He took the jar and prepared to hunker down for an uneventful afternoon.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four! From here on out, the story starts to earn it's M rating. It's still hugging pretty closely to the show's storyline for now, but we'll see some Bethyl action next time.

Beth crawled from her drunk nest, grabbing a discarded cardboard box to position in front of Daryl, who raised a questioning eyebrow. Beth tilted her chin towards the half full drink in Daryl's hand. "I feel like we're the last two people on Earth and we got no clue 'bout each other. Les play a drinking game, 'is called 'Never Have I Ever', ever played?" Daryl gave her the blankest look Beth had ever seen, causing the girl to giggle. "Goes like this; I say sumthin', and if you've done it, you drink, if you haven't, I drink. Simple, right?"

"I ain't never had to play a game to get drunk," Daryl groused out, so aware of how different their lives had been before. "How you know this game?"

Beth raised her shoulders, "My friends, they liked to play. I watched," she grabbed her drink. "I'll start. I've never shot a crossbow. Now you drink."

Daryl took a swig, already well into the drink. "Kinda a shitty game."

"That was just a warm up! You go now," she prompted.

"I've… never been outta Georgia," Daryl admitted slowly. He could feel drunken anger welling up at his feeling of inadequacy. What a redneck he was, never leaving the backwoods of Georgia.

"That's a good one! I've… never been drunk and did something I regretted," Beth singsonged, happy that she was able to goad the man into a game. He took a begrudging drink, wondering if she was implying that she wanted to do something she'd regret. He shook off the angry thought – that's where you could see the relation between Merle and his younger brother, both so quick to anger.

He tried to play along convincingly. "I ain't never been on vacation."

"Never? Not even camping?" Beth asked. What did she think, camping as a vacation? Camping in the woods was survival, the dumb girl. Sullen, he shook his head.

"I've… never been in jail. As an inmate, I mean," Beth started, and Daryl's head whipped around and he glares angrily. "I mean, not for anything big. My daddy even ended up in the drunk tank a few times…"

Daryl tilted his head, her words doing nothing to placate him. "Izzat what you think o' me?" He growled, lips turning upwards in an ugly snarl. Beth's eyes went impossibly wide and she stared to shake her head. Daryl jumped from the chair, pushing thing out of his way to a corner of the dank little shack. He smashed an empty jar to the ground and saw Beth jump out of the corner of his eye. "Daryl," she hissed, "be quiet."

"What?" The ornery man yelled. "I can't hear you, I'm pissin'!"

"Daryl!"

"What, you my chaperone now?" He snarled, tucking himself away to face the girl, red hot with rage. "What, ain't it my turn now? I-I never had frozen yogurt. I never had a pet pony," he was picking up momentum now, fueled by how different they were, how little like her he was. Hell, even if he was ten years younger, he'd never be in her league. "Never got nothin' from Santa Clause! Never relied on anyone for protection 'fore! Hell, I never relied on anyone for nothin'! Never sung out in front o' a group like everything was perfect!" He lunged towards Beth, gesturing to his wrists, desperate to make her feel the hurt he felt. "I ain't never cut my wrists lookin' for attention!" There it was, the hurt he was looking for, but it didn't satisfy the ugly craving inside of him. He grabbed her body, forcing her against himself, and thought, for a brief moment, that what he needed was her bare skin against his. He shoved those feelings away as he manhandled Beth to the door. "Don't know how to shoot a crossbow? Well, we're gunna learn!"

Outside, his keen eye and steady trigger finger strikes the walker, pinning the thing to a tree. Daryl grabbed Beth, forcing her body against his, bringing his weapon to their faces. "C'mon, right corner!" And the bolt flew, hitting the target. "We're having fun! Ain't this fun!"

Beth struggled against his hard arms, body, chest. The feeling of his body under her hands, instead of turning her on, filled her with fear. "No, Daryl, stop!"

The man gripped the teen again, bringing his arm around her, palm settling dangerously close to her breast. Daryl felt the swell on her curves under his fingers and froze long enough to let Beth escape his grasp and bring her knife plunging down into the walker's skull. "Why'd you go and do that for!" Daryl yelled."We was having fun!"

"No, Daryl, it's not supposed to be fun, what if someone found Daddy.." She gasped out.

Daryl swung his arms angrily. "That's different…That's - Augh! Whatchu want from me, girl?"

"I want you to stop acting like you don't give a damn! 'Bout all the people we lost, 'bout me! You look at me and just see another dead girl!"

Daryl stumbled away from the icy glare, not daring to refute the words that came out of Beth's mouth, trying to deflect. "We're out 'ere and all you can think about is getting a drunk like some dumb college _bitch_," he snarled, looking her up and down. "What's it matter? We ain't gunna see any o' them ever again. Not Maggie, not Glenn! Judith, Rick, Carol, yer Daddy..." Daryl's voice cracked, then shattered as he continued on. "Yer daddy. I shoulda done somethin'. I shouldn'ta stopped looking with Michonne. Had a clear shot at the Gov'ner, didn't take it," he sobbed out. Skinny little arms wrap around his chest from behind, hugging away the sobs, lending strength to Daryl's defeated figure. Not once while he sobbed like a child did Beth make a sound or move a muscle, she just stood, a strong, willowy tree against his back.

After the sobering outpouring of emotions, Daryl turned in Beth's arms, giving her an awkward hug before patting her back to urge her inside. "C'mon, Greene, let's get back your nice little buzz."


	5. Chapter 5

**Finally, we get original scenes! You'll notice that as I break away from the show's story line, the chapters will get longer as I won't have to dance around someone else's storytelling.** **After this chapter, if we have adult themes, there'll be a detailed warning; we don't wanna offend nobody! So please read those carefully. This'll be the only explicit chapter for a while, though, so savor it! I should say that no one under the age of 18 should be reading this, but when does that ever actually happen? My rule of thumb is if you can't spell masturbation correctly, you shouldn't be doing it! Or reading about it. It's only suitable to spell it 'masterbation' when you're making kinky jokes. Onwards!** **Adult themes; explicit sexual content, masturbation. **

Beth and Daryl settled back into their small comfort zones – Beth surrounded by quilts and the smell of moth balls, Daryl spread out on the chair, a bottle of water in place of moonshine – and slowly conversation returned. "What else ain't you ever done?" Daryl probed lightly, trying to regain that small sense of camaraderie that they once had.

Beth lifted her shoulders in her trademark shrug. "Lotsa things," she mumbled, looking down. "I ain't never drove a real car, only tractors, like a proper farm girl." She twisted her head to look up at Daryl with a forlorn look on her face, trying to press her lips into a sad smile, but it came across as a grimace. "I ain't ever been on a real date."

Daryl pressed his eyebrows together. "But, Jimmy—"

"Datin' back then meant he'd come help 'round the farm and have dinner with my family. I've never been out for a dinner or a movie with a boy or nothin' like that," Beth explained.

"I ain't never been on a real date, neither," Daryl confessed with rushed breath, embarrassed. "I always just picked up the ladies in the bars, easier on a rough face like mine," he brushed his hand over his wiry whiskers before continuing. "Least you got to have a relationship before the world ended."

It was Beth's turn to look slightly astonished. "Never?"

Daryl shook his head and smiled, determined to not get angry. "Never."

Beth looked away, searching her mind for another topic, hiding her sorrow behind a few big gulps of moonshine. She knew that Daryl would mistake it for pity, and that's not a path she wanted to venture down any time soon. "I had sushi once." Conversation whiplash. "Went to the city with my friends, we drove, all threw down like, thirty bucks each on food we weren't sure we'd like 'er not. It was the dumbest idea we ever had, the entire trip was so expensive."

Daryl relaxed back into his chair. The divergent topic was obvious, but they were sharing something better than dwelling on things neither of them had ever done. "So, what, you guys didn't like it?"

Beth shook her head, "No, it wasn't like that. I really liked it, but we shoulda went to a less expensive place for our first time."

"Naw, man. Your first time doin' something should be pretty extravagant. I mean, lookit your first drink. Fightin' hordes o' walkers, and me, walkin' fer miles, drinkin' _moonshine_ – who else is gunna ever have a better story to tell 'bout their first time drinkin'?"

Beth smiled, "What was yer first drink?"

Daryl shrugged, shaking his head with a laugh. "I don't even 'member, girl, it was so long ago. I'm an old man."

"No'suh!" Beth retorted, childishly. Daryl took note that she had abandoned all pretenses and discarded the cup, drinking the liquor straight from the jars. He handed her the bottle of water, knowing that she'd need it. Her face was flushed, creeping up from her neck, and she was starting to fidget under the weight of her own body heat. "You ain't old, Daryl Dixon. My daddy, he was gettin' old, you, you still a young man." The girl had settled into drunkenness easily, eyes glazed slightly and a smirk on her face, as she pointed her chin at Daryl. "Ain't no old man out there that looks like that, Mister Dixon."

Daryl's embarrassment was instantly obvious, unsure how to take the compliment from the loose lipped girl. Sober, she never would have let those words escape, but now, she was feeling much more friendly, and Daryl knew this. "Yer jus' drunk," he said, casting his eyes away.

"No, sir, all them Woodbury ladies would agree wiff me, hell, they all did, 'fore everything happened. You, you was a hero to all those people, but god," Beth ground her forehead against the upturned palm of her hand, grinning at the memories. "If I never hear another joke how bout some middle aged lady wouldn't mind trackin' you down, it'll be too soon."

"Wh-what the—?" Daryl had his entire body turned towards Beth now, suddenly very interested in the conversation.

"Oh, yeah," Beth's smile was huge now, arms resting easily on her knees, jar of moonshine suspended between her legs. "It was a favorite topic, when doin' the laundry or the gardening, when none o' the others were around. They didn't mind gossiping with me or the baby 'round, acted like we didn't have ears sometimes. Lotta 'em talked bout how their husbands didn't look like they could pick 'em up and toss 'em round the bedroom. They speculated lots on you an' Carol."

Daryl shot Beth a look. "Carol?"

"Oh, yeah," Beth repeated. "You two'd make one badass couple. Thas' why lotsa the Woodbury ladies didn't know how to talk to Carol. Intimidating lady, there, but who else could wrangle the great Daryl Dixon?"

Daryl barked out a laugh at the thought of him and Carol, together, which had never actually crossed his mind. Actually, ever since everything happened, he hadn't really looked at a woman that way, the youngest Greene daughter aside. But now he was hungry with curiosity. "What else they say?"

"Oh, the usual. Talked 'bout yer ruggedly handsome good looks, that fine body o' yours," Beth teased, being entirely truthful. Sometimes the women would try to include her in the conversation, as she was part of the main prison family. They inquired about his physique, his personality, if he had been with anyone since she had met him. Once, they tried to ask about Rick, but had backed away from the subject at Beth's horrified, if comical, face. Daryl was fair game, though, since Beth occasionally offered insight unprovoked, and the women all understood the small crush. "It was harmless gossip, makin' everyone feel like things were kinda normal, and they never said anything that weren't true. It wasn't too bad, til they'd go wonderin' on things that polite people shouldn't talk 'bout in front o' a baby."

Daryl's face split into a painful smile as he laughed, wondering how embarrassed the girl must've been in the midst of that conversation, about someone she shared a cell block with, someone she had known for the better part of a year. Hershel had been a godly man; Daryl couldn't imagine Beth having a candid conversation about sex with a group of people. The man suddenly felt playful, wanting to tease back. "I'm sure you didn't mind nearly as much as yer makin' it out, Beth Greene, with your expansive know-how on the history o' porno mags 'n everything." His companion wrinkled her nose at him, catching the light tone in his voice, but lost for words. She settled for making faces and blushing heavily, which Daryl took, correctly, as guilt. "You didn' mind at all, didju?"

Beth waved her free hand at him, dismissively, while taking another thought gathering swig. "Ain't like I had any experience to contribute to the conversation, I mean, I ain't ever even been naked in front o' a man. Hell, I don't even know if I ever been to second base."

It was Daryl's turn to panic at the conversation. What the hell, Beth, dumping something like that on him. Daryl always assumed that Jimmy or Zach had to have taken that opportunity with the girl, or something. He kind of felt sick to his stomach for looking too long and his stolen touches in the trunk. He groped around for a full jar, he needed at least a vague buzz to handle what was going on. "What—What ya mean?"

Beth was ready to just talk, the booze lubricating her vocal chords. "You know, first base, second, hitting a home run?" She talked like he should know exactly what she was saying. "First base, that's kissin', right? I'm guessin' that second is somethin' with gettin' topless, third, ya lose yer pants, and, homerun, that's just obvious. All I've ever done is kiss somebody else. Jimmy and I were too 'fraid of my daddy findin' somethin' out, and Zach, well, we just didn't have the time."

Daryl looked sad for her. "I'm sorry, Beth."

"Naw, it's fine. Not like it's a huge deal anyways," Beth responded. "I mean, ain't no lover like yourself, right?" She started giggling while Daryl looked on in confusion. "I know what, like, an orgasm feels like, an' stuff. Ain't much to do after dark in a prison cell, 'cept, well, you know." Daryl's face took on a look of understanding and utter shock; here was little Bethy Greene, discussing her masturbation habits with him. "It's a quiet pastime, an' all you need are yer own two hands!" She wriggled her fingers at him as he swallowed a hefty amount of moonshine. She had no clue what she was doing, which made it all the worse. She looked away, not shy any more. "I remember the first time I touched myself. Wasn't long after Carl got shot. I was thinkin'… thinkin' 'bout how if a boy as little as Carl could die at any moment, hell, nobody was safe, and I was waitin' for Jimmy, but didn't really wanna wait, you know? Sides, not like the first time havin' sex is gunna be all the great, or comfortable. All by my lonesome, it was nothin' but good feelings. Ain't nobody gunna ever try to make me feel guilty 'bout touchin' myself, neither."

Daryl felt the fire in his belly, arousal thrusting itself to the forefront of his mind, and the words escaped before he had a chance to reign them in. "What I would give ta see that," he breathed, then nearly clapped his hand over his mouth like a naughty child. Maybe the jar of moonshine was emptier than he had thought. Beth froze, while the two of them just stared at each other, entirely unsure what kind move to make next. Daryl wanted to snatch those words out of the air and shove them back into his big mouth, but he settled for pursing his lips and looking away.

"Do you really wanna?" Beth's question was so quiet, timid, that the man thought he was hearing things till she propped her elbow up on the arm of the chair to lean closer. Her eyes flicked between his, his lips, sweeping down his body before finding his eyes again. Daryl leaned back slowly, trying to escape the sudden invasion of the air a foot and a half away from him, very pointedly looking into the young woman's eyes, and not her heaving chest, or little pink tongue that darted between her lips, a nervous little action. "Cause, well, I—I wouldn't mind at all," she whispered, mimicking his earlier jest.

The usually collected hunter was in a state of pure panic, trying to figure out a way out of the mess he had talked himself into, especially without hurting any feelings. He nearly took another swig of moonshine but a slender finger caught the rim of the mason jar, big, blue eyes pleading for an answer.

"Fuck, Greene, how's a man gunna say no to you?" Daryl ground out, looking down. Beth took this as an affirmative answer, as she took a final swig of her moonshine and stood, hands going to the complicated buckle on her belt while the rough redneck in front of her just watched, mouth open. He began to reason with himself, reasons why he shouldn't stop her, why she should just do what she damn well pleased. He was thankful something reasonable came out of his mouth the second try. "Beth… this ain't…"

She looked up from fumbling with her belt, "Ain't what? Ain't like yer gunna be the one doin' it for me, and it ain't like either of us know when the next time we're gunna be able to have fun is, an' I know this'll be a helluva lot more fun than fingerin' myself in the dark."

Daryl's breath caught in his throat, but all he could do was nod at the blunt words. When the blonde went back to her belt, he jumped up out of his seat and backed away a few feet. "You, uh, you should take the chair," he stammered out as off came her boots and her pants came swiftly after, as if she had to do this before she lost her nerve. The moment her pants dropped to the dusty floor, all thoughts fled from the hunter's mind as he took in her long legs and barely there blue panties, though he had seconds to process it before she threw her body into the chair, all long limbs and hair. If there had been any doubt in his mind, that moment solidified the fact that this wasn't a seduction; this was, as Beth put it, meant to be fun. Daryl stood there awkwardly as she wriggled out of her shirt, exposing perky tits, enough to barely fill his hand, as he felt himself get harder against his zipper, pressing painfully against the metal. Beth seemed to be done undressing for the moment, impossibly long legs hooked over either arm rest, one arm secured across her chest, one hard, pink nipple peeking out from under her wrist, the other resting between her legs, fingers toying with the fabric of the recliner before resting on the thin fabric right between her legs, and the man standing near swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to wander closer for a better look. "Yer really perfect, Beth," he said, trying to break the silence but not quite sure the best way to do so.

The drunken flush on Beth's face grew darker at the compliment, making her bold. Her fingers began to trace little circles onto the fabric of her panties, pressing harder the closer she got to the top, relaxing the pressure as she swept downwards. She obviously knew what her fingers were doing, the motions familiar and practiced. The girl wasn't even naked, and Daryl felt more aroused than he had ever felt in his life, with all the bedroom experience he had, nothing measured up to the erotic sight of Beth Green splayed out on a dirty recliner, relaxing more every second. Her arm came away from her chest slowly, hand reaching down to the elastic on her underwear. She lifted her hips and they came off much more quickly than expected, landing on the growing pile of clothes to the side, and those long legs came back to rest on either side of her. This time, her knees were pointed slightly inward, the unconscious little motion betraying her nervousness at exposing herself so completely to someone for the first time. The enraptured man took two small steps forward before kneeling down, no longer towering over the small figure, close enough to touch. Even in the heavy shadow of her legs, Daryl could see the wispy, dark blonde hairs, glistening with moisture around smooth, puffy lips; he was close enough to smell her musky, sweet scent, close enough to touch her trembling knee, the skin smooth under his calloused hand, and gently push her legs apart, an action that caused the girl to jump and look at him with frantic eyes. When she realized that his hand wasn't going anywhere, just a gentle, steadying pressure on the inside of her leg, she settled back into the chair, rocking slightly, before her hands resumed what she had been doing, a gentle sigh escaping her lips.

Daryl's eyes drank in the unadulterated sight of the soft, pink flesh, as Beth's middle finger ran from her tiny opening to circle around her clit, pressing back against her outer lips to increase friction on the more sensitive parts of her anatomy. She was quiet, so quiet, humming softly in pleasure randomly, but her heavy breathing was the only constant sound in the shack. Daryl thought it was the hottest thing he'd ever heard, the breathy sound of her pleasuring herself, and imagined how it'd be with that breath hot against his ear as her tiny body wrapped itself around his while his free hand fumbled with his button and zipper.

From her vantage point, Beth couldn't quite see what he was doing, but once his cock bounced free and he began to stroke himself, she couldn't control the little gasp she gave at the sudden rush of warmth through her body, now acutely aware of why Daryl wanted to watch. This was much better than looking through stolen nudie magazines – and she had been right, it was much more fun than quietly bringing herself to orgasm in the dark.

Another slender hand joined the first between her legs, and Daryl watched intently as a finger teased her opening. This was what he really ached to see, and gave a groan when she wriggled a single finger into her tight body, only to the first knuckle, before removing it completely and plunging it back in, just a little further. Her little breasts were swaying back and forth with the motions of her body, and her gasping breaths were getting heavier as Daryl's once gentle touch on her knee turned into a grip, fingers pressing hard enough leave a bruise on the tender skin. He wasn't quite as quiet as the writhing girl before him, groaning under his breath as he fisted himself tightly, getting dangerously close, unable to stop the words that came tumbling out of his mouth.

"Fuck, Beth, I'm gunna cum. Yer so fuckin' beautiful," he moaned, trying to ease up his grip on her, but failing, unwilling to sacrifice the feeling of her skin on his.

Beth arched and threw her head back, impaling herself fully on one finger as she hissed out, "Yesss," as her body started to tremble. Daryl saw her breath hitch as she pointed her shapely breasts at him, then her pink flesh began to spasm tightly against her finger, he gave a groan, hand wrapped around her knee, and pressed his face against the red skin. Everything went still for a fraction of a second before his own orgasm ripped through him, as he moaned and pressed a sloppy kiss to the inside of Beth's knee, trembling with the intensity of it. The night was silent, save for their breath, slowing to normal, as Daryl waited for the guilt. None came rushing from the corners of his mind, and he quietly lifted his head from it's resting place to look at Beth. Her head was resting against the back of the chair, eyes closed lightly and a small smile playing on her lips. Daryl hadn't seen her look so relaxed since before Zach's death, and couldn't be bothered to feel guilt just then. He lightly brushed the red skin on her leg where his grip had become nearly brutal before slipping away, grabbing the corner of an afghan to clean up with before standing to readjust himself into his pants, and Beth's eyes popped open just in time to get an eyeful of half-hard cock.

She didn't look away, still buzzed enough to be bold. "That's real big," she stated, folding herself up and reaching for her underwear.

Daryl cleared his thoat, but his voice was still hoarse. " 'is a lot bigger when he's not at half-mast," he grumbled, shaking himself back into his jeans and trying to control the shaking of his hands. There really wasn't time to enjoy the afterglow during the apocalypse. He nodded towards the rest of her clothes. "Now get dressed, we don't need you to be runnin' through the woods in buck ass naked. Them walkers wouldn't enjoy it nearly as much as I do." Beth laughed under her breath, but obeyed on unsteady feet. "An' grab yerself some water, girl."

Beth finished dressing, an awkward dance, and gave him a thumbs up. "Yes, Mister Dixon."

He rolled his eyes and grabbed his crossbow. "Come on, let's go sit on that rickety ass porch. It got mighty warm in here."

His answer was another small laugh, but it was cut off when he let the door swing shut softly behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm fudging the timeline just a tad by a few days to give me time to flesh out Daryl and Beth's relationship. There isn't going to be much in the way of heavy or obvious affection for a while, but we'll be getting our fair share of nervous looks in. I feel like Daryl would be the type to mentally wave his arms around, shouting about what the fuck, feels.  
>I'm going through a doing some editing, which I kind of slacked on when I uploaded a few chapters. Grammatical and tense errors, some words that don't make sense, haha. <strong>

Daryl really hadn't had that much fun in, well, ever, he decided as the duo silently moved through the trees and away from the burning cabin. The commotion would bring walkers, which meant less walkers wherever they were heading, but while the two of them laughed and flung jars of moonshine around, dancing around each other's bodies, all he could think about was how great that night had been, how this was how life was supposed to feel. Beth made him feel alive, and young, nothing like the feeling of being old and tired that had haunted him for the last year and a half, and while he didn't think he'd ever vocalize the feelings Beth had invoked inside of him, there was no harm in calling this adventure his first real date. Hell, one moonshine date with Beth Greene was all that it took to make Daryl Dixon's heart go a-flutter. He wondered what Merle would say if he knew. Merle had always had this strange soft spot for good romances, and this was a fine start to any good redneck romance novel.

Beth earlier words echoed in his mind. "Yer gunna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon," she had said. Daryl's chest grew tight at the thought, then shook it off. No, no, he wouldn't miss Beth Greene one bit; cause he was gunna make sure she wasn't going anywhere.

They took off through the forest, doubling back towards the small town that had housed the country club. It was relatively close to the prison, which meant that Daryl had passed through it once or twice during runs, and gave them a great advantage over the walkers that were most likely gathering into a herd to wander towards the raging house fire. It was still dark as they darted out of the cover of the woods, creeping low to the ground and close to buildings. Their destination was a small market on the outside of town that the hunter knew was relatively free of walkers and still stocked with supplies, a clever and intricate grate system over all potential entrances on the first floor, a precaution against looting, but with the discovery of several hundred feet of rope and the addition of a farm girl capable of throwing a half decent lasso, they were going to get to the safety of the quaint little porch two stories above the entrance.

The unlikely pair arrived at the store with no problem, and Daryl fed some rope to Beth, who was grateful for the ability to help, and something to keep her mind from wandering back to the now blazing shack, knowing that it wasn't the time or place to fantasize. She tied a simple knot and looped it around itself, then grabbed the loop and the tail of rope together, something she hadn't done since they lost the farm. She pointed her index finger along the shank and nodded to Daryl, signaling him to keep watch. She inspected the porch from her poor vantage point, finally settling on an upturned wrought iron planter drilled into the brick of the building. She prayed that it was sturdy enough to support their weight.

She brought the rope above her head, careful to not hit herself or Daryl as she swung it in two full arcs before letting it fly towards her target. The rope hit heavily against the side of the building with a loud crack, inches away from the planter hook. Daryl's shoulders jumped and he lowered himself closer to the ground, casting his eyes around nervously at the intense sound in the quiet twilight. Beth swore under her breath, hands frantically gathering up the rope, dragging it through the overgrown flower pots and over the low railing, catching the bulk of it before it could land on the pavement. She positioned her hand again and widened her stance before whipping the rope through the air again before letting it fly.

She was certain it was going to be a miss again, the wide part of the loop flying far away from the wall, but the bottom edge of the rope caught on the upturned 'U', sliding home. Beth gave a sigh of relief and tugged on their makeshift ladder, while her partner backed up to her and motioned for her to start first, crossbow at the ready. She knew she had this, as she thought back to gym class, a time so far away that it felt like another life, when they had to climb an obstacle much similar to this. She wrapped the rope once in her left hand, gripped it in her right, and started to make her way up the side of the building, being as quiet as she could, but the scuffing of her boots against the red brick as impossibly loud. She clamored over the little railing, nearly falling but catching herself just before she hit the floor.

As soon as her body weight was off of the rope, Daryl began his ascent, much more silently than Beth, who leaned over to take a quick sweep of the area – still free of any undead. The telltale screech of metal and rock rubbing together made the girl spin quickly, realizing that while the planter held her, the much larger body at the end of the rope had pushed the cheap construction to it's limit. She grabbed the rope between the railing and the planter and rooted her feet against the wrought iron fence, tugging backwards, taking the full brunt of Daryl's body weight as her arms shook with exertion. As a mess mop of brown hair popped over the side of the porch, and the man realized that exactly had been the backbone of his climb, he let go of the rope and let the side of the building take his weight before swinging his legs over the fence and onto the porch.

The glass door wasn't barred, so Daryl gave the frame two sharp knocks before stepping away, waiting for any walkers to appear. He glanced over at Beth, suddenly very nervous, realizing that she had never been on a run, and they were going to be moving through the pitch black together looking for trapped walkers. He unsheathed his knife and handed it to her. "You keep this raised high, at all times, like this," he said, demonstrating a hold that kept the knife high and steady, "An' we clear this place room by room, you keep your skinny ass near me. We ain't having another country club. If there's a group, you double back here, got it?"

Beth nodded her understanding, knowing that this was much more important than their little booze crawl across the countryside. They needed supplies, and this was where to get them.

With no walkers clawing at the glass, Daryl tried the handle of the door, but it was locked. He wrapped his trusty red bandana around his fist and shattered one of the panes near the handle, breaking in easily, and opening the door. The upstairs apartment was just as quaint as the outside of the store, the balcony opening up to a little double parlor, and beyond that, a kitchen. Daryl motioned to the first door to their left, and Beth stood to the side, reaching out to the knob while the bowman moved to be ready for anything that may be inside. The door opened to a linen closet, and Beth gave a crooked smile. The next room was a bedroom, musty smelling and small, but without any surprise entrances. There was a stylishly feminine look to the room, and Beth felt sad at the young woman that must have resided in these walls.

"Family store," she heard Daryl mumble. "Let's hope they didn't decide to lock themselves up somewhere in here, or we might have a mess on our hands."

There were pictures on the walls, and Beth picked one up, holding it closely in the dark. She saw three smiling faces, an elderly man and woman, and a woman with just the beginnings of laugh lines around her eyes. She silently passed the frame to Daryl, who took it without a word.

The next bedroom was just as musty as the first, but two doors branched off either side of the room. The first lead to a large closet, but was Beth approached the other, she heard little gasps and scratches from the other side, and they both braced themselves as she let the door creak open. Immediately, the tiny old woman from the photo tottered out, her skin a molten green color, as she reached out for Daryl. He didn't waste the effort of using his crossbow, simply sidestepping as the walker went down under the weight of its own body, and plunged a knife into the back of her skull. There were still sounds coming from the room, and Beth stepped into what must have been a small sitting room. In a wheelchair, the form of the old man reached for her, dead eyes staring, and Beth brought her weapon down onto the top of his head, silencing him. In the opposite corner sat the body of the woman that had been in the photos, fingers still curled around the little pistol, mummified.

Daryl brought the body of the old woman into the room and set her on the floor, backing up to where Beth stood, taking in the gruesome scene. There had been a large chunk taken out of the side of the wheelchair bound man's face, and the body sitting in the chair was missing three fingers. The only wound on the fragile old woman was a gunshot through her gut. Both survivors knew what had happened. The family had gathered around their failing wife and mother while she passed away peacefully, and didn't expect her to get back up. Daryl almost slid his hand to the small of Beth's back, but snatched his it away before he could make any contact. The girl turned away on her own accord seconds later, and he was close on her heels, shutting the door with a small click.

The rest of the apartment was clear. A small handicapped accessible bathroom, sizable kitchen, and a small stairwell down to the little market, free of any undead. The kitchen was well stocked, and it was obvious that the family had prepared for a long stay in the little citadel. Daryl knew that staying in town long wasn't wise, but it would suffice for as long as the walkers below didn't catch on to the living occupants in the building, so he grabbed a few sweaters that he knew Beth would like from the master bedroom, then shut that door tightly, shoving a hand towel underneath it to block out the smell of rot.

The redneck found her in the daughter's bedroom, lying on the bed with everything but her boots on, and she barely moved her head to acknowledge him. She heaved a huge yawn and patted the bed next to her, and the man hesitated at the invitation. It was innocent enough, but finding her moonshine and talking about the past had started out innocently enough, too. He sat on the edge of the bed with a huff, then toed off his boots, settling uneasily into the pillows next to Beth, but she had the sense to know that what had happened in that shack in the woods had changed the dynamic between them. Since Daryl had pressed a kiss into the sore skin just above her knee, they had been careful not to touch one another, like a silent agreement had passed between them. It was like Beth had said earlier; no one could make them feel guilty about touching themselves. Touching each other?

That was a different story.


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm back! I actually had to replace my entire computer; the wonderful man I bought the original PC from had just, like, taken a random copy of Windows off of the internet and didn't bother to check if it was actually Windows and not just a giant bundle of spyware. :D**

**WARNING. This chapter contains descriptions of a radically abusive environment, there are several possible triggers, so be warned. **

**I would like this opportunity to discuss partner abuse for a few moments, feel free to skip on over this, but if you can spare the few moments, please read. Abuse is all around us. When I originally started writing and reading fanfiction in 2003, I never thought that I would ever be in a situation of abuse, the type of abuse that authors - like me - occasionally use as plot points. I want to use this as a standing ground; most abuse a person, male or female, will encounter, will never look like the abuse you will read about. Most abusers will ****_never_**** beat their victims into submission, hell, some of the worst abusers will never even hit you. **

**If your partner ever makes you feel frightened, threatens you - if you leave, I'll kill myself; if you do that, I'll cheat on you; etc - uses love as a weapon and attention like a bartering tool, tries to push your family or friends away, if you FEEL abused, or ****1-800-799-7233****is the National Domestic Violence Hotline, or if you feel the need to talk to someone, message me personally. There are always resources for those in need.**

**Anyway, back to Bethyl! **

Daryl was the first to wake, the sun peaking through bronze and purple curtains, already pretty high in the sky. Beth had shifted while they slept, tucking her arms underneath her body and face pressed right into the pillow, dark circles underneath those long, light lashes. They needed time to rest, just for a day or so, before continuing on. They hadn't had proper sleep since the attack on the prison, and he knew that Beth would probably end up sick after yesterday. No small body could handle that much liquor and not be hungover the next day.

He moved quietly off the bed and padded into the kitchen, taking a deeper look at what the home was stocked with. He opened the first cabinet, completely full of nothing but beans. He turned cans around, convinced that no single household could collect so many beans. Kidney, pinto, small red, butter beans – they were all there and staring mockingly at him. The next cabinet had more variety, canned meat, fish, veggies, and fruit.

He grabbed a jar of pineapple and some water from the floor before returning to the bedroom where Beth had stretched out all of her limbs over the bed like a starfish, and was groaning softly into the pillow. Daryl bit his lip against the rush of feelings in the pit of his stomach at the sound, especially since he knew that the sound wasn't from pleasure – far from it. She turned her head to squint at him against the low light in the room.

"Daryl," she rasped, raising one hand towards him, or rather, the water in his hand. He opened it and passed it over, warning her to sip. She propped herself up slowly to bring the bottle to her lips, grimacing as it went down. "Daryl," she repeated, causing the redneck to look at her, a serious look on her face, and he felt panicked that she was going to ask what had happened last night, or that she was ashamed that he took advantage of her. The man waited for her to continue with bated breath. "Wh…why did you let someone shit in my mouth?"

He barked out a relieved laugh. "I..I should go downstairs, see if there's any aspirin, maybe some toothbrushes."

The girl buried her head back into the pillows and nodded stiffly. On his way to the door, Daryl heard her tortured, "Please?"

Beth felt like she was dying. Her head hurt, her throat hurt, her legs hurt… she groaned again, trying to catalog her pains. The headache was obvious, and her throat burned from inhaling smoke. Her hands hurt from the rope biting into her hands as she struggled to keep Daryl from falling last night, and her legs… there was a tender spot on her right leg, the inside of her knee. Her fingers danced down to press on the sensitive skin through her jeans, feeling the five points of radiating pain, and groaned for an entirely different reason.

The evidence of Daryl's desire, even if it had been merely fueled by moonshine, made Beth's belly clench in excitement. In those moments in that tiny shack, Beth was completely certain that Daryl had wanted her as much as she wanted him, hand trembling against her skin and teeth biting into his lip. She knew that she would be recalling that night in her fantasies for a good long time, and gave another groan. Daryl heard it as he was reentering the room, noticing the different pitch and little sigh as it trailed off, but just flicked his eyes over to the window and cleared his throat, handing over a toothbrush, trying to look unfazed.

Beth disentangled herself from the pillows to grab the offered brush, then trudged slowly out into the bathroom with her bottle of water to scrub the taste of moonshine out of her mouth, the larger man following like a puppy close behind. He didn't want her out of his sight, not recognizing the suddenly possessive feelings he had been having.

Beth found gallons of water underneath the sink in the bathroom, and a clever grey water system, and the same sadness from last night came rushing back. This little family had been so prepared that it was almost shocking; they hadn't been driven from their home out of necessity, up in their little tower, they should have been safe. Instead, the hell outside of their door couldn't wait for them and barged in unannounced, and it wasn't fair.

The girl tried to focus on brushing her teeth, staring into the sink, when a rough hand slid the tube of toothpaste out of her hand and she met Daryl's eyes in the mirror, the man standing just slightly behind her, shoulders hunched a little against her stare. Since their little encounter in the woods, he had been seesawing between acting like a frightened animal, eyes constantly seeking for possible escape routes, body tense and ready to scurry away from her at any moment, or like a little boy, totally unsure of himself. She wondered if he had always been like this, and she had just been too thick to notice. Thinking back to the prison, when he brought back food, or supplies, when people would try to draw him into conversation and he would scuttle away, excuses or sarcasm on his tongue, to one of his little sanctuaries around the prison.

Beth stopped brushing at the sudden realization, feeling so stupid. Daryl Dixon was _shy_.

"What?" he groused around his full mouth. His petite companion's delicate eyebrows shot up and she pulled an innocent face that was entirely full of shit as she shook her head and ducked her head down to finish what she was doing, a hidden little smile on her face.

They had a breakfast of pineapple and painkillers, Beth shutting her eyes against any light that came in through the windows while Daryl sat watching, bemused smile plastered on his face. He eventually took pity on her and closed most of the gauzy curtains, offering her the couch where she plopped down and covered her eyes with her arm.

"I'm thinkin' we take stock of what we got here. Can't stay long, place is too small, and if we get surrounded by walkers, we're stuck," Daryl started to explain. "I say we start off tomorrow mornin', I'm thinkin' you deserve a day to be useless, after yer first real drink."

She glanced at Daryl from underneath her wrist, frowning deeply. "I'm always useless, Daryl, bein' hungover ain't gunna make much of a difference. "

The silence hung heavy over the foyer for a few painfully long seconds before Daryl spoke, voice tight with what sounded like anger, "You shut yer damn trap, girl," as he stomped off towards the kitchen, and Beth could hear him opening cabinets and slamming things onto the counter. She sat, completely unsure as to why her words had elicited such a reaction, and then followed.

When the blonde appeared in the doorway, Daryl slammed one last can down, making Beth jump, and sighed, closing the cabinet gently and glancing over at her. "You… You don't say that shit 'bout yerself, girl. You, you coulda just lied down and died, after everythin', took the easy way out. After everythin', I…" He scrubbed his hand over his mouth like he was trying to keep some words from escaping. "If I hadn't had you 'round, I woulda just tried to lie down and die, myself."

Beth sucked in a breath, just as unsure of herself as Daryl. She didn't know what to do with this sporadically open and honest man, so different from the man she had grown to know in the prison while surrounded by their family. "What's gunna happen when I'm gone, then?" she asked in a small voice.

The redneck pinned her in place with a hard stare. "You ain't goin' no where," he grumbled, turning back to the cabinets near his head. "Now help me empty out these cupboards."

By the time they were done, the small round kitchen table was stacked high with canned goods and packages of non-perishables, and they had found a small stash of mason jars, capped with little squares of fabric and hand written labels, which Beth squirreled away, labeling them high-priority, picking up each one and setting it down almost reverently, running her fingers over the labels with a little smile on her pretty face.

"My momma, I remember her every fall, makin' up a giant pot of pickling juice while Maggie 'n' I packed up mason jars for her. She'd make preserves and the best spiced peaches you've ever had," she remembered fondly, offering up a bit of herself as an apology to her partner for her surly mood. "I remember all the recipes that she taught us, made me feel like Laura Ingles on the frontier."

"Made you feel like who now?" Daryl asked, wracking his brain. Should he know who Laura Ingles was?

"The lady who wrote the Lil' House on the Prairie, lived out on the frontier with her family, braved harsh winters and early frost and managed to not die long enough to write some books," she said with a laugh. "I really loved 'em when I was in grade school. My momma gave 'em to me."

"My mom," Daryl cleared his throat, "she, uh, she was a great cook, too, made sum' the best soul food a man could get 'is hands on, and I always came home on time when my momma made cornbread. She said that my pa married her 'cause he loved her cornbread." Beth sucked in a sharp breath at his little confession. The man never talked about his mother or father, though the scars she had seen when Hershel had been patching him on the farm told of a rather unhappy life before the turn, and he stepped around his words in a way that he hadn't bothered to do when talking about Merle. "She knew how ta prep a buck like nobody else, taught me how when I was still a kid 'n taught me how to cook when Merle or my pa weren't around."

The blond farm girl shuffled a little closer to Daryl, who was too wrapped up In fond memories to notice her proximity. "What else was she like?" Beth queried softly as to not break the little spell the man had woven around them with his words.

A smile appeared on his thin lips when he answered. "She was a good woman, always tryin' to do best for Pa, Merle, and I. Always kinda frazzled, though. Whenever…whenever she'd yell at me or my brother, send us to our room, which was kinda often, we wasn't easy on her, she'd come by, find us maybe ten minutes later, always sayin' sorry for yellin' then tryin' to talk about what she had been yellin' bout." Daryl chuckled, bringing his thumb up to his mouth' gnawing at the nail, " An'… an' she was the prettiest lady you'd ever seen. Real little, Merle was taller 'n her when he was twelve, had brown hair, kinda like yer sister's, with jus' a little bit o' red. Her eyes were always happy, til… well."

Daryl paused a looked away for a moment, and Beth didn't press for him to continue. They stood in silence for a minute or two, redneck leaning against the counter, farmer's daughter standing near his hip, twisting her messy hair around one finger. "My pa, he weren't no kinda man, always puttin' his hands on my momma, an' I guess she got real fed up one day. Had me 'n Merle pack some bags, like we was goin' away for a good long time, was on the phone all day. My pa came home when she was lockin' up the house, real fired up 'bout somethin', started beatin' up on my momma right in the front yard." The man scrubbed his hand over the lower part of his face, a move that his companion was beginning to recognize as uncertainty, and his gaze flickered over to her for a moment before he cast his gaze back to the ground.

"Beat her real bad, worst I ever saw, till she just stopped movin' for a bit, 'n came after Merle an' me. Took off after, an' one of the neighbors helped us get my momma back in the house. She weren't never the same after that, forgot stuff. Messed up one side a' her face, lost her sight in that eye after a bit… Passed away a year later in spring," Daryl finished quietly.

Beth wanted, desperately, to wrap her arms around him in comfort, but she faltered, hesitant. Before the moonshine still in the woods, she would have offered up physical comfort readily, but the change between them was palpable, and in truth, Beth wanted Daryl to break their unspoken rule about touch first, coward as she was. She settled for reaching forward and grazing the tips of her fingers against the back of his hand, soft and gentle in a wordless, 'I'm so sorry.' He turned his hand around to lightly catch the tips of her fingers, a shy, innocent gesture, then let go and looked away, picking up a can.

"I really, really hate canned beans," he grumbled, and Beth gave a giggle.

Later that day, as the sun began to hover just above the treeline, the duo began to plan. The little treasure trove they had discovered was much too valuable to simply leave behind without future plans to come retrieve what they couldn't carry easily, and so they began a long game of attempting to find keys, beginning in the storefront.

It was a quaint, historical looking building, antiques dotted along shelves and hanging on the walls, a sight which immediate grabbed Beth's attention as Daryl covertly watched her from the behind the counter. She looked like the type of girl to be right at home here, in a little Southern country market, a town with more gravel than asphalt and all the working folk knew each other's names, and it made the man smile a little, thinking of sweet, helpful Bethy Greene being a shop girl. She had paused in front of a display, little trinkets and kitschy nick knacks, touching her fingers to a pair of necklaces that glinted prettily in the low light, delicate silver script strung between tiny bits of leather that said, 'sisters.'

The girl grabbed the necklaces off the display and twisted them around her fingers before tucking them into the pocket of her jeans.

"Beth," Daryl spoke, concern making his voice tight. She shook her head quickly.

"Don't," she said, her voice slightly raspy with emotion. "She's out there. She's out there, with Glenn, an' they're survivin', just like us. Maggie, she's got this." A little laugh escaped Beth's lips. "She's got a fire in 'er that I don't got a lick of, it's from her own momma. Even if she was alone, she's got this."

The hunter knew that the girl was hanging onto hope just like he had with his brother, and felt the need to say something, anything, to quench the unspeakable hurt that he had felt when he had faced Merle for the last time, but he remained silent. Words were always an avenue Daryl took when he ached to get himself into trouble, and he had no desire to upset the relaxed atmosphere between himself and the young woman, so he just resumed his search for keys.

He had begun fiddling with the register, knowing that with just the right amount of attention, the cash drawer would pop out and hopefully contain what he was looking for, when he heard his name, a loud whisper, in the far corner. He paused before hearing it again then took off like a cat towards the sound.

Beth was flat on the floor, and Daryl's heart stopped until he realized that she was pressed too precisely against the ground for her there to be injury. She was squinting underneath a door which had been previously passed off as a supply closet. "I see 'em, Daryl. Set of keys, over in the corner. I- I think there's a walker-"

Her fears were confirmed as there was a heavy thud against the door and familiar moaning, two rotting feet appearing to block her view of their prize and she heaved a heavy sigh. When she stood, Daryl's hot breath hit the side of her neck as he whispered to her.

"I bet they came on in through right there, dropped their keys an' had to lock 'emselves in," he said, oh so close, enough so that they felt the heat of each other, and Beth could barely concentrate on what he was saying. She wanted to feel his hard body pressed up against her curves, wanted to feel something truly good again, like in that shitty little shack in the woods, but held still. "Only looks like one. 'Tween you an' me, it ain't go no chance," he chuckled.

Beth nodded, and stepped forward, hand on the knob. Daryl nodded at her and she gave a very anticlimactic heave as the door stayed shut. "Locked, fuck," she cussed, feeling slightly foolish. She looked at the knob closer, and smiled. She grabbed a screwdriver off of a nearby shelf and went to work on the door while whispering to Daryl. "Daddy installed this exact door knob on the snack pantry, damn thing was cheap and popped open like magic."

Daryl snorted, amazed. "Delinquent Beth, stealin' fuckin' snacks. I best be careful, yer gunna get me into a life of crime," he joked as he shifted his cross bow into shooting position. With Beth kneeling, he would have the perfect shot at the lurker behind the door, and he motioned for her to stay low.

She leaned heavily on the door then released it with a click as the lock sprung free, and immediately her body flew backwards as walkers slammed open the door and poured free.


End file.
